Promo: Stupid is as stupid does.

[Guest The Satanic Angel]

Columbia General Hospital, Ohio

About 4am, 4/13/06

 

Amy Stephens steps out of the hospital, looks around, and grimaces. She took some nasty burns on her back from the furnace, a concussion - probably from the botched Sweet Home Alabama, although being rammed into the wall didn't help - and as for her face, the doctors reckoned it was a miracle she'd got off as lightly as she did. She managed to roll with the first of Bruce's enormous punches, but that didn't stop it from near enough knocking her out. Her body was limp when he hit the second one, so he encountered no resistance at all. Despite those mitigating factors Amy has a newly reset nose, several loose teeth, a bruised cheekbone and a face that is starting to look like a particularly madcap painter with a passion for purple and yellow has been commissioned to produce his masterpiece on it.

 

On top of that, it's starting to rain and there are no taxis anywhere in sight.

 

"Fuckin' typical," Amy grunts, shoving her hands into the deep pockets of her cargo pants and starting to walk. She doesn't even really know where; she has no idea about the bus routes in Columbia, she's no more likely to find a taxi anywhere else and she certainly won't be able to find her hotel on foot from here. However, after being told to sit still, lie still, examined, poked and prodded for hour after hour she's in no mood for inactivity any longer. She just wants to walk.

 

She gets about a dozen steps before a large shape looms out of the shadows in front of her.

 

"Hi," Sean Davis says, causing Amy's heartbeat to drop back down from hammering in her ears. The last person she wants to run into right now is Bruce Blank, and right now any big shape looks like him. However, the presence of the Perfect Storm is, if less worrying, far more confusing.

 

"Wotcha," Amy nods cautiously, "whassup?"

 

"You OK?" Davis asks. Amy looks at him for a second, then nods. Once. Sean sighs and unzips the bag on his back, then passes her something long and flat that glistens and glints under the neon lights. "I got something of yours. Thought you might want it back."

 

There, in the outstretched hand of Sean Davis, is the SWF's Ultraviolent Title.

 

"'ang on a sec," Amy says, after this has sunk in, "I don't remember all that much about the end of that match, right, but I'm pretty sure I din't win it, ya get me?"

 

"You won it," Davis assures her, still proferring the belt.

 

"An' how the bloody hell did I do that? I were unconscious with a concussion, innit!" Amy protests, putting her hands on her hips and glaring at the Perfect Storm, daring him to make fun of her. Davis pauses for a second, as if considering what to say.

 

"You... had a bit of help," he admits.

 

"From you?"

 

"Uh-huh."

 

"An' why'd yer do that?" Amy asks him, "put that fuckin' belt away an' all, I ain't takin' it til I know what yer wantin' for it, ya get me?"

 

"Fine," Sean sighs again, replacing the title in his bag. "I don't want anything," the Perfect Storm tells the disbelieving Punk-Rock Princess, "I was just looking after it for you. And if you want to know why I helped..." A short silence follows, while Davis seems to collect his thoughts and translate them into words. "If you want to get into the ring and wrestle, then that's your choice-"

 

"Bloody right it is!"

 

"-but getting into the ring is one thing," Sean continues, his deep rumble drowning Amy out for a second, "and being booked against a psycho like Bruce Blank in a locked room with weapons lying about is something else. That's not a match. That's brutality. And when one of the two people in the room is so much bigger than the other..." Sean pauses and eyes Amy again, something telling him not to add what's really on his mind; he can't stand violence towards women, but he gets the feeling that Amy doesn't want to hear that; "...it just didn't seem right to me," he finishes instead. "Besides," he adds, "your brother was a good guy. Didn't seem right to not help his sister out."

 

There's a short pause.

 

"Y'know what," Amy says at last, "you're the first person I've met in the SWF who's said anything nice about Mike except that he was a bloody good wrestler."

 

"He was a good guy," Sean repeats, maybe a shade defensively. "Hey, I'm not saying he couldn't be nasty, and he made a few bad decisions and he never worried about who he pissed off... but he helped give me a direction. And when you're new to the business, that's valuable."

 

"Right..." Amy says, nodding slowly. Then her eyes sharpen again. "Alright, that's why yer helped me, an' thanks for that. Now I ain't being arsey or nuthin', but why'd you come all the way down here to tell me that an' give me my belt back when yer could have done it tomorrow or whenever?"

 

"Well..." Sean says, and as if by magic a set of car keys appear in his hand, "It looks as if you could use a ride."

 

"I can see why Mike liked ya, yer a bloody lifesaver!" Amy laughs, clapping the Perfect Storm on the arm. "Where's the car?"

 

 

* * *

 

 

"Seriously man, I owe you a drink for this," Amy says as Davis eases out into traffic.

 

"Maybe when I'm not driving."

 

"Sorted. I'll drink, you drive," Amy says, settling back into the seat before the burns on her back cause her to jerk forwards again with a curse. "Tell yer what though, I'm a bit fuckin' pissed off with Landon, know what I mean? He coulda come down and seen how I was or somefing."

 

There is another short pause.

 

“Did you see much of the show last night?” Davis asks in a neutral tone.

 

“Nah man, I was getting ready for me match or goin’ to hospital, innit,” Amy says casually, then something in Sean’s voice catches her attention and she looks sideways at the Perfect Storm. “…why?”

 

“I taped the show last night,” Davis explains, “habit I picked up from your bro. There’s something on it you should see…”

 

(credits to Toxx)

[Mr. S£im Citrus 0]

Awesome. Hell hath no fury...

[chirs3 0]

Innit = $$$.

 

And more importantly, I find it refreshing that Davis would help someone just because he's a decent guy.

[Guest The Satanic Angel]

Innit = $$$.

 

And more importantly, I find it refreshing that Davis would help someone just because he's a decent guy.

 

Imagine that.